


Girls just wanna have fun!

by KungfuChicken



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: nothing too serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KungfuChicken/pseuds/KungfuChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Vale, or more precisely, the Gates of the Moon is the place to be right now. Somehow a motley crew of two hedge knights, their squire and a "wandering septon" have ended up here. What are they looking for? Maybe they don't even know themselves. But they sure are about to stumble upon something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> George R.R. Martin created these characters for which I am eternally grateful. I am just having fun with them.  
> Also English is not my first language. Please forgive the occasional grammatical confusion and spelling errors.

Myranda Royce was not the kind of woman to put trust in coincidence and good luck. If the Gods loved you, these things might just fall into your lap but for most people some preparation was necessary to point luck in the right direction. And Myranda was a girl who excelled at preparing. When the great feast of the Seven was approaching, she hung mistletoes all around the castle in all strategically opportune places. Myranda Royce intended to receive her fair share of kisses this season. 

She had been sneaking around the Gates of the Moon, checking out eligible kissers. There had been an abundance of newcomers, noble and common alike. A tourney always drew all sorts of people and the Lord Protector had seen to it that he and his daughter Alayne hosted the most splendid tourney the Vale had ever seen. How good of them!

There were the hedge knights, those she would avoid. Most were too old, too scrawny and too hard-bitten and flea-ridden for her taste. Besides they lacked manners and were always looking for an opportunity to rise in society. They would only see a woman like her as a cow they could milk eternally.

Then there were the knights of the minor and major noble houses of the Vale. Those would get a chaste kiss on the cheek. Not that she would mind to intensify the kissing but her reputation as a merry but respectable woman needed to remain intact, should she ever want to make a good match again. Although being widowed and therefore considered as slightly damaged goods, Myranda certainly had plans for the future. She was still young. At least a widow was entitled to more frivolous fun than a maiden. Nonetheless a lady had to tread the path between flirtation and wantonness most carefully. 

Let Alayne have the Vales seemingly most eligible bachelor Harry, the Heir, Hardyng! She herself intended to have a go at an even bigger pot of gold, currently residing in the west wing of her ancestral home. Was not the vastly rich and influential Lord Protector of the Vale and Lord of Harrenhal, Petyr Baelish, a newly widowed man? After an appropriate time of mourning he certainly would want to remarry. And Myranda would make sure she would have a head-start whenever he would be showing signs of interest in taking a new bride.

There were commoners who had caught her eye. Why not kiss a muscled blacksmith or carpenter? Those she would present with the rare gift of a highborn lady’s kiss. Kissing these well-endowed young fellows was almost an act of charity on her part!

Then there was clergy to be considered. Many of the septons who were shuffling around the castle and tourney-tents were old and wheezing. The excitement of one good kiss would finish them off just like it did her late husband. And this really would be too much bother. But there were younger ones as well. Maybe she could tempt one or two to leave their godly ways for a few minutes? This small triumph would be the perfect gift to herself!

The mistletoes were hanging in the hallways and Myranda was prowling the castle, giddy with excitement.  
She spotted that big hulking septon. He had come with a pair of hedge knights and their squire. But they were only hedge knights, she gave them no further thought. 

But that septon certainly did not belong to the feeble kind! Although he walked with a slight limp and always seemed to hunch his shoulders, Myranda guessed that underneath his wide brown robes he was powerfully built. She smiled. Let the hunt begin!

Then she remembered that odd story Mya Stone had told her just the other day. Her friend was in an impossible situation. Her former lover, Mychel Redfort, had arrived for the tourney. Although a married man now, he was convinced that he and Mya should resume their relationship. The fact that he had a wife and that Mya refused to see him had not dampened his enthusiasm. This meant he was harassing poor Mya relentlessly, trying to get her out of her clothes. Mychels betrayal of her love had hurt Mya deeply and when he had approached her with this asinine proposal she had come running to Myranda, fuming with rage.  
“How dare he even suggest this? When I pointed out that he was a married man and had no business chasing other women, he just shrugged and said that I should stop making such a fuss and take off my shirt already. As if I was nothing more than a common whore! I thought he loved me!” 

Myranda felt sorry for her friend. She knew Mychel had broken Myas heart. And if the fool thought Mya would be wanton and willing just because she was a bastard, he was mistaken! Mya Stone had a rather strict view of morals despite being the illegitimate daughter of the philandering Robert Baratheon. If Mychel had not sworn to marry her, she would never have let him bed her. Myranda had warned Mya, but the love-stricken girl had closed her ears to sensible advice then. Well, so much for men and their vows… At least Mya was wiser and more careful now. But it made Myranda sad that Mychel Redforts only interest in Mya had been to get her out of her clothes and in his bed. Her friend deserved better than that!

At the end of her wits of how to deal with Mychels more and more agressive advances, Mya had finally gone to the big septon for advice. Her reasoning behind this had been him being a wandering septon. Mya thought he would probably give more practical advice than the ones at the Gates of the Moon. And he did not know her. Mya was sick of hearing that it was all her fault because she was a woman and a bastard besides and she should pray long and hard to overcome her own sinfulness. But the advice the big septon gave, made even Myrandas jaw drop. First he had only grunted to leave him alone. But after Mya had badgered him, she really had been desperate for advice by then, he had told her to give Redfort a good hard kick in the nuts! If that wasn’t enough, she should kick him where it hurt some more. And if he still did not give up after that, she should send Mychel to him and he would give him a lecture on proper knightly behavior. These words were accompanied by a threatening crack of his knuckles. Afterwards a flabbergasted Mya had told Myranda everything. But in the end they both had agreed that this was finally a septon who seemed to know what he was talking about! Maybe he would be as unorthodox if it came to celibacy?

Myranda saw him walking to the kitchen. She followed him silently and just when he was standing underneath the mistletoe at the entrance, she jumped out. 

“Well, how lovely meeting you here, septon! What is your opinion on seasonal rituals?”

He only shrugged and tried to get past her.

Tall and a little clueless, perfect! So she helped him and pointed up to the mistletoe hanging just above his head. He looked up. Then he looked down at her and his gaze fell to her impressive cleavage which was being presented to him quite unabashedly. Myranda knew what most men liked when it came to female wardrobe. 

He wore a shawl around his face and a hood. She just saw his grey eyes widen in surprise and shock. She heard a sharp intake of breath. Then he turned abruptly on his heel and fled quickly in the opposite direction. 

Myranda stood under the mistletoe, feeling very foolish. But then she just shrugged and thought:”Well, this will go down in history as the day my ample bosom drove off a Holy Man!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prequel to the first chapter. "Septon Sandor" gives advice.

She had cornered him in the stables while they were tending to Stranger, Honor and their other, unnamed horses and looked at him pleadingly with her dark blue eyes. They reminded him of another girl with blue eyes. This girl's eyes had been a lighter shade of blue and her hair had not been jet black and cropped short but had fallen down her back in soft, auburn waves. This particular girl he remembered, would never have worn breeches, a tunic and a leather jerkin though. This girl had embodied all a highborn lady should be. Upon closer reflection the two girls, the one in his head and the one standing before him, had nothing in common. But the way they looked at him… Seven hells, it killed him! 

Long ago, when he had still been a boy, there too was a girl who looked at him with big pleading eyes. She was his first failure when it came to girls who were looking for help. He had not been there for her when the monster they both had to call “brother”, had shoved her down the stairs because she had dared to talk and laugh loudly, just when one of Gregors unforeseeable headaches had attacked. Or maybe there never had been a headache, with Gregor you never knew. Gregor just liked to hurt and break people, animals and things because he could and without needing a reason. The girl fell down the stairs and was lying at the bottom, not moving for far too long. And then it became clear that she would never move again. Her eyes had been grey, just like his own. 

It was not the color of the eyes but the look they shared. They begged for help. They were looking for an ally. They hoped he could solve their problems, big and strong and fierce as he was. And he could not help because he was powerless himself. And it killed him. He had been devastated when his sister died, because he had not been there to protect her. It still infuriated him beyond reason, that he hadn't known of an efficient way to protect Sansa Stark in Kings Landing. Why where there girls in need of his help everywhere he went anyway?

“Septon?”

A tug on his sleeve brought him back to reality, to the girl looking for his help now. And she seemed to think of him as a bloody septon too! Ha! Don wide brown robes with a big cowl, act all pious and humble and everybody saw what they wanted to see. Well, he had tricked people into believing he was a farmer before, why not a septon? It really wasn’t that hard. The year he spent on the Quiet Isle was not wasted. Now he did not need to pretend he knew what he was talking about when people were jabbering pious nonsense, expecting some equally pious nonsense as an answer. 

“That man who is harassing me, what should I do?” Bloody hells, the girl was stubborn and not easily intimidated, he had to give her that! And besides, her problem was not the kind of problem that would send him to an early grave or to total disgrace. 

Well, what advice would Elder Brother give? He had no idea, he obviously was not Elder Brother! What would Sandor Clegane likely do then, were he in her place? The answer came almost instinctively. 

“Give him a good hard kick in the balls.”

“What?” her voice rose in astonishment and rang in his ears.

“Kick him in the balls! You look like you could deal out some good hard kicks. And if he doesn’t stop, kick him some more. Some idiots need to learn the hard way. Learn how to use a dagger too! And if that is still not enough, send him to me. I will see that he gets a lesson on proper knightly behavior myself.” With that he cracked his knuckles. He could see amazement and disbelief in the eyes that had looked worried and worn down just minutes before. 

“I …If you say so, I… will try and heed your advice.”

“Good! But most of all see to it, that you don’t give him the chance to catch you on your own! Have someone at your side wherever you go.”

With a nod of her head, she turned and left, almost running.

“Well ...septon, let’s hope the maiden fair will not castrate the fool!” 

Jaime Lannister stepped out from behind the haystack holding a pitchfork, barely able to contain his mirth. 

“Oh, I thank the Gods they let me live to bear witness to the trials and tribulations of saintly septon Sandor! I do not think I had this much fun since I put frogs in my sisters bed, and I was seven then!”

Before Sandor Clegane could answer, he had a momentary vision of himself and of how he must have looked. Maidens (or maybe no longer maidens) sought him out for advice! Unbelievable! But here he was... He could actually see, what Lannister thought so funny. 

Well, if his advice would work out fine for once, that would actually be nice. And the girl was not the fragile kind, but tall, wiry and strong. And if he was not mistaken, she had been talking about that weedy blond sissy he had seen tailing after her earlier. She looked like she should be able to manhandle this guy. But he would try and supervise her as best as he could for some time all the same. Snubbed men could turn vicious. She was in the stables a lot, tending to the mules. There would be a good chance that her stalker would approach her there. And if he did, he would make sure, she would not have to face him alone. 

“Oh, shut up for once! And be grateful we are travelling in the company of a girl who is perfectly capable of kicking the balls of three men single-handedly, if need be!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepover at Myranda's, where Alayne Stone begins to think there may be a silver lining.

They were in Myrandas bedroom, all three of them. They donned their most comfortable nightshifts and had sneaked sweet treats from the kitchen previously. Myranda wore an elaborate new hairstyle that Alayne had insisted she wanted to try on her friend. There had been much braiding, brushing and pulling involved and Myranda had grimaced with obvious discomfort more often than not. Mya had japed that the idea to cut her hair short must have been a stroke of genius. She was obviously happy to have escaped Alaynes clutches. But then Alayne had looked at her with a dreamy yet determined gaze that could only mean one thing: Mya was next. And sure enough, Mya was being made to sit still and had her face painted with the most extravagant Tyroshi cosmetics. Alaynes father had spoiled her with lavish gifts from his last trip to Gulltown and now Alayne was eager to experiment.

“Alayne, you know I love you, but if you are transforming me into a painted parrot, I swear you’re in for a cruel revenge!”

“Shhh Mya, don’t speak or you’ll ruin it! There, all done.” 

Alayne let go of Myas chin and looked at her, satisfied with her work. 

“You look very pretty! Myranda, could you give me your hand mirror please?”

Myranda was happy to oblige. Mya held the mirror and looked at herself skeptically, not sure if she should be pleased. Alayne had done a good job, but Mya was staring at herself as if she had just met a stranger. Then she started smiling.

“I have to admit, I look good Alayne, but my mules will not care!”

“Agreed, your mules won’t, but maybe someone else will?” 

“At the moment I have no desire for anyone to find me pretty.” came Myas resigned answer. 

The smile slid from Myas face and Alayne could have slapped herself. Of course Mya could not laugh about the debacle with Mychel Redfort, it was still too fresh. 

“So, that particular advice this big septon gave you, did you use it?” Myranda enquired curiously.

Alayne frowned. What septon and what advice? Mya had never told her. And would it not have been better if Myranda had tried to divert her friend from the subject of her sorrow? Mya knew how to hold on to a bad mood for hours or even days. But to Alaynes great surprise, Mya started grinning, sat up straight and began to tell a most curious story.

When Mya finished her tale of how this huge septon with his very brusque solutions for relationships that had gone sour, had helped her get rid of her problem and get even with Mychel for all the trouble he had caused (it involved a septon frighteningly skilled at damaging various body parts and the ego of Mychel Redfort) Myranda giggled hysterically and Alayne sat silent for a moment but then gathered herself enough to mimic a scandalized look. 

“So Mychel learned his lesson and you are well rid of him then?” Myranda asked.

“Yes! Before the septon dropped Mychel in a heap of dung, he made him apologize to me and swear he would never harass a woman who was not willing again. Or else his wife Ysilla, or more precisely her father, the Lord of Runestone would hear about this. And we all know that Bronze Yohn would not take such an insult to his beloved daughter lightly! Anyway, it has been over a week now and whenever Mychel sees me, he starts running in the opposite direction. His nose is healing nicely, as far as I can tell. But I think that septon might have suspected for something like that to happen. Mychel catching me alone and unaware, I mean. Because when I went to the stables and Mychel followed, he was there almost immediately, coming out of nowhere. And the rest you know.”

Luckily her friends did not notice that Alayne had become quiet all of a sudden, lost in thought. They were too busy restoring Myrandas hair to her usual nighttime style and washing the paint off Myas face. 

“Ladies, it is bedtime, I think!”

And with that Myranda climbed into her big bed and patted the cushions invitingly. The two other girls followed suit and climbed in after her.  
After some time both Mya and Myranda were sleeping soundly. But Alayne lay wide awake, remembering things Alayne was not supposed to remember: A huge man, emerging soundlessly from the shadows, for example. A man helping her in the only way he knew how, in a rough and violent manner. But she also remembered his hands on her shoulders and how she mistook them for her father’s. She remembered his hands coming out of nowhere, gripping her, steadying her steps, dabbing blood from her split lip, gentler than she expected. She remembered the same hands holding a sword and lopping off the arm of another man, who had tried to grab her and tear her from her horse, without hesitating. These hands had also pressed her to her bed, holding a dagger to her throat and threatened to kill her if she would not sing a song. But as the hands threatened her, his rough voice had promised her safety at the same time: “I could keep you safe. They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you or I’d kill them.”  
He had kissed her and left her his bloody cloak. And then he had disappeared from her world completely. Had he kissed her? It seemed so long ago, she wasn’t even sure anymore. Everything was gone now, no trace of him remained. What remained were memories of another girl and another life. Because for all she knew the Hound was dead and Sansa Stark might be dead just as well. There was only Alayne Stone. 

And Alayne Stone was tired of pretending to be Alayne Stone. She was tired of pretending to be another mans daughter. She was tired of being always one step ahead of everything and everyone. Every time she said or did something she had to be careful not to let something slip. Her pretended identity pretended to be grateful for her betrothal to Harry Hardyng and pretended to be smitten with her betrothed, when in reality she was still married to Tyrion Lannister and she really wanted to be with neither of the two men other people had selected for her. All her life she had always done what was expected of her, but it had brought her nothing but trouble. From the beginning she had suspected that Littlefingers plans were not for the good of Sansa Stark or the Vale or even Westeros, but only for the good of Littlefinger himself, who did not even lift a little finger when he saw no personal benefit. Even though Alayne pretended to love her father dearly, she was sure there was no heart beating in his chest but an abacus. 

Petyr Baelishs schemes had saved Alaynes life. That much was true. She had played along, because what other options did she have left at the time? But why had everything to be for Littlefingers benefit only? What was he aiming at anyway? He already was Lord Protector of the Vale and Lord of Harrenhal. When would his lust for power be sated? How far would he be willing to go to achieve his goals? Alayne knew the answer and she shuddered. Telling lies came naturally to him. Qualms of any kind were a complete waste. She had seen him kill people, including his wife, who were no longer of use to him without batting an eye. 

Sleep was further away than ever. Before she had been sad and scared. Now she realized she was also angry. All this time she had been but a pawn in one of Petyr Baelishs grand schemes. She had done all he had asked her to do, excelling at the task, never getting any closer to her own wishes. The realization that she was fed up helping to make a megalomaniacs plans come true was an epiphany. 

“In the game of thrones even the humblest pieces can have wills of their own. Sometimes they refuse to make the moves you’ve planned for them. Mark that well Alayne. It’s a lesson Cersei Lannister still has to learn.”

The longer she thought about it, the more it seemed to her that Petyr Baelish himself had yet to learn this particular lesson. Maybe the time had come to complete his education regarding that matter.

Alayne Stone did not know how or when she would make her father realize that he had committed a grievous error in disregarding his own words. But she was sure that the time had come to seek out a certain septon and verify a suspicion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister: No longer golden but dented and rusty, oddly content and fortunate all the same.

Compared to the Riverlands, the Vale was paradise. It was well protected by mountains with narrow passes. The war, that was ravaging the rest of Westeros had not found its way here, not yet. The food was still plenty and the nobles still indulged in such frivolous pastimes as organizing grand tourneys. And it seemed that no one had more appetite for frivolous pastimes than the Lord Protector of the Vale himself. But when they found out that said man was none other than Petyr Baelish, the man so conspicuously remaining absent from Kings Landing, some pieces of the puzzle fell into place, at least for Jaime Lannister. 

It was unfortunate: Littlefinger knew Jaime well. But nowadays he doubted if even the people he thought once knew him best, would recognize him. When people heard the name Jaime Lannister, they thought of the splendid knight, golden, shining and arrogant. Nowadays nothing about him was golden and shining anymore, but brown, dented and shaggy. Even his hair and beard had begun to turn grey. His clothes were worn and crumpled and his armour had seen better days. A good stink and a layer of grime kept people away nicely. His confidence had been unhinged and he had learned the art of humility. He was nothing more than an ordinary man now and it was an odd relief not to stand out anymore. 

What would his golden sister say to his appearance now? She had not taken kindly to him losing a hand, cutting his hair, growing a beard and wearing a white armor instead of a golden one. It was as if his changing looks drove her away. Or maybe she hated them because they were the visible manifestation of them growing further and further apart. Cersei certainly had seemed mortally offended when he had stopped mirroring her looks, thoughts and moves. When he was away from her, he used to pine over her. Those days were over too. He wasn’t glad about the fact but he wasn’t as sad as he should have been either. He found that he just did no longer care. He was on a quest for his lost honor, for his peace of mind, for a higher ground. And the manipulations of his sister and his blind adoration and desire for her, he realized now, had initiated his first step away from this path. If his twin saw him today she would doubtlessly send for a servant with a big broom to sweep him out of the Red Keep like vermin.

He and his companions, Brienne of Tarth, Podrick Payne and Sandor Clegane had been travelling and living rough for weeks before they finally arrived at the Gates of the Moon. On their way Brienne had decided to pass as a man. She had just stopped correcting people when they made the assumption. It was safer that way. No one would take notice of a young hedge knight, an old crippled one and their squire who were looking to earn some coin by selling their services to the noble lords of the Vale. And the huge wandering septon who accompanied them was an acquaintance they had met while travelling the Riverlands and then had decided to stay with them for better safety. No one needed to know that said septon kept his face hidden for good reasons and his own set of weapons well honed and ready to use. 

When they arrived at the Gates of the Moon they had not only been surprised by the news of a tourney but also of how quickly the Lord Protector or more precisely, his deputy here in the Castle, Lord Nestor Royce, had accepted their service. And luckily the Lord Protector had been away in Gulltown when they arrived or their cover would have been blown immediately. Now they needed to be watchful but they were prepared. Sneaking around at the Gates of the Moon was suddenly much more interesting. Petyr Baelish always had been a man who loved to be in the thick of shady things back in Kings Landing. Why should the Vale be any different? Jaime had no idea what Littlefinger was plotting right now, but it seemed as if he was in need of protection himself, for he hired every hedge knight and mercenary he could lure to the Vale on the spot. Maybe he was just being cautious and wanted to be prepared for a war that would only take longer to spill over the mountain passes or reach the Vale by sea.

Littlefinger didn’t know Brienne, who passed as Ser Byron these days, when they had to address each other within earshot of others. Unfortunately Littlefinger knew Podrick Payne. But their squire Pat, as they called him now, mostly kept out of sight and was of no interest to the Lord Protector anyway. Jaime himself kept to their tent or the stables. He was not likely to run across Littlefinger there. Clegane prowled the castle and the tourney grounds as a septon, covered from head to toe in his wide brown robes, looking for hints of Sansa Stark, being sidetracked by people in need of clerical advice and buxom beauties, as Jaime had noticed to his endless amusement.  
Anybody in the realm who had ever heard of Sandor Clegane would recognize him anytime. But Littlefinger was not a pious man, quite the opposite in fact. "Septon" Clegane was in no danger of being ambushed by a Lord Protector in the mood to ignite a theological debate. For such a thing to happen, Clegane probably would have had to pose as the High Septon himself not as a lowly wandering cur. Littlefinger prided himself to orchestrate and control every move anybody of importance ever made. Strangely, it had never occurred to him that unimportant people too could have their own, hidden plans. 

But to be honest, they didn’t have much of a plan these days. The only one he could think of was not to starve or freeze to death. For winter was coming as the late Eddard Stark had liked to point out so obstinately. Their best option was to remain here, where there was food and coin to be earned and try not to blow their cover. If they stumbled upon a hidden mystery here, all the better. And Jaime was sure that with Littlefinger nearby there was bound to be such a mystery somewhere.

Their rag-tag band had adjusted to each other in time. It was actually astonishing how companionable Clegane could be, now that he had somehow managed to shed the rage that had seemed to simmer constantly underneath the surface of his ruined skin, ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. Not having to show his face and having random people gasping at him in shock everywhere he went, had probably improved his temper too. Jaime had learned the hard way himself that the toxic environment of court in Kings Landing could poison any personality. 

And now that Jaime thought of it, he had been quite right when he had first compared Brienne to the Hound. There were not only the similarities in character but some curious physical ones as well. Jaime could have sworn that there just had to be one common, huge, headstrong ancestor somewhere. 

Jaime pondered all this, while preparing dinner with Podrick. He was clumsily chopping some carrots for a stew when a thoroughly disgruntled Sandor Clegane entered the tent they shared and plopped on a protesting collapsible leather stool. He took off his shawl and hood and looked at Jaime, exasperated. 

“Everywhere I go there are women following me! First the one with the lover she wanted to get rid of, then the one who shoved her cleavage almost into my face and now another one is tailing me. A shy one, who is probably hoping for advice of how to best crotchet a dumb doily for a superfluous altar. There was a time when women fled whenever I came round the corner. I am starting to miss that.”

With that Clegane poured himself a cup of water.

“Why septon, I had no idea you knew how to crotchet doilies!” 

Jaime received a dark look but Clegane did not deign to reply. After he had gathered himself, he continued: “She has been following me for two days now. Didn’t dare to come out and tell me what she wanted. Just hovering out of sight, but always so near that I knew she was there. Once, when I was in the stables, she tripped over a milking stool. When I turned to look, she scrambled out of sight as if she had seen a dragon. I thought I was rid of her but an hour later she tiptoed after me again. It is driving me crazy!”

“Well maybe the buxom beauty, who regaled you with an ample display of her goods, told her shy friend to try the same tactics?” Jaime said lightly. 

A grunt was the only reaction he received. But then Jaime heard footsteps nearing the tent and a faint rustling outside the canvas. There was a shuffle and a squeak. And not a minute later Brienne stormed in, gripping a girl in a simple, yet elegant brown dress and cloak tightly by the arm. 

“That one was spying outside! Who are you girl, and what do you want?”

The girl trembled and tried to escape the merciless grip of the Maid of Tarth. Her hair was as brown as her dress. Her eyes were a cerulean shade of blue. She was tall and graceful, shivering in fear.

Clegane stared at her wide-eyed, as if he had just seen a ghost. He dropped his cup and swallowed hard, visibly shaken and at loss for words. When the girl looked at Clegane, her lips split into a smile that Jaime could only describe as joyfully surprised.

“I knew it!” he heard her say, breathlessly.

And then Jaime recognized her too. She had been but a child when they first met. Now she was a tall, lovely young woman and somewhere along the way she had changed the color of her hair, but it was unmistakably Sansa Stark. And Jaime would be damned if he knew why, but she seemed genuinely pleased to see Clegane. He exhaled, shaking with silent, disbelieving laughter and then said to a bamboozled Brienne: 

“Let go of her, all is well. It seems we made the right decision by going to the Vale. For the fair maiden in distress we are so determined to find and rescue, has found us!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sorry" seems to be the hardest word or Sandor Clegane embarassing himself in front of everybody and not caring one bit.

He was in shock. He wasn’t prepared when she stood in their tent so suddenly! He would have liked to react more confident, composed or at least better than he did right now. But the way it was, he must have looked downright scared of her. And he was scared that moment! But in hindsight, he had no idea how he could have reacted to give a less embarrassing impression. Given how they had parted ways a long time ago, back in Kings Landing, there just was no dignified way to react for him. And he had always known that their meeting, should it ever happen, would be an almost unbearably mortifying affair. And he deserved it. 

“Sandor I can’t tell you how to react or how she will react, if you ever meet again. All I can say is: Don’t growl, snarl or threaten her and then run off, like you did. You must apologize to her and you know it. I know you can, I have seen you do it! ”

Elder Brothers words still rang in his ears. Well, he hoped Elder Brother would be happy with him now! He didn’t run, he just sat on that dumb stool unable to move, unable to say anything, gaping like an idiot. He heard himself mumbling in a strange voice after what seemed an eternity:”How did you find me?”

Her smile turned into a grin when she said:”You gave a friend of mine some advice I just knew no septon in his right mind would ever have given. And then she described you and I thought I just had to meet this septon because he sounded a lot like somebody I used to know.”

“Oh!” was all he could say stupidly.

“And then another friend of mine told me of the hold-up under the mistletoe. She too said that the septon in question was a big man with grey eyes who had hidden his face. And I knew I just had to see this septon with my own eyes!”

“Aha…”

His tongue seemed to have formed a knot. Luckily Jaime Lannister saved him by pointing out that tent walls could have ears and they should be careful. Sansa Stark, or Alayne Stone as she was known here, had nodded and then greeted Podrick Payne delightedly. The boys cheeks had turned an impressive shade of red and Sandor really hoped his own skin colour had remained as it was. He already had a terrible disadvantage when it came to his face, he did not need another one. But he couldn't help noticing that his remaining ear had suddenly become unusually hot. Brienne was introduced and she almost immediately sank to one knee, swearing fealty to the Lady Stark. He wished he had thought of that! 

Sansa Starks smile faltered when she finally recognized Jaime Lannister. But then she looked closely at the ruin that was once the famed Kingslayer. Maybe she was not entirely convinced he was not here to bring her back to Kings Landing for trial. But she did not seem to think he was a threat either for she acknowledged his presence with poise. She took all these sudden and possibly frightening news with perfect dignity and grace while he was a blundering bundle of nerves. And then she focused on him again.

“Forgive me, but I have to know: Why a septon of all people?”

Seven Hells, he was supposed to say something now, if he only knew what!

“I know you don’t have a way with words and it doesn’t matter if what you say is witty and short or foolish and longwinded, but it has to be from the heart. Remember that, Sandor.”

Yes, Elder Brother, I can hear you loud and clear, I will do my best.

“What... I.... Gods! I… I am happy that you are still alive! And you seem well and you have friends! And I… I … I am sorry that I was so bloody rude, I am sorry I left you with the lions, I am sorry for everything I did and for everything I said, I am sorry for being such a miserable prick all the time, I am sorry I did not do more, I am sorry I didn’t help you, I am sorry for everything I didn’t do or say but really should have, I am sorry I held that blade at your throat and threatened you that night when the wildfire… I am so, so sorry!” 

He blurted it out and it did not matter that there were others listening. Because this he needed to say and this she needed to hear. And when he had finished, he dared open his eyes again. It did not matter that he could not see clear because there were tears or that his voice had become hoarse and brittle and that he was clenching his fists like a little boy. All that mattered was Sansa Stark, looking at him and hearing him. And when he wiped his face and looked up at her, he saw that she too had tears in her eyes. 

“I know.” She only said softly. And it was enough.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alayne and Myranda both know that sewing is a good opportunity to let the mind wander freely.

“Alayne you are so quiet, is something the matter?” Myranda asked her friend. Alayne wasn’t a chatty girl but she hadn’t said a word in what seemed like hours. Something must be amiss. 

Alayne just sighed and shook her head lightly. She was supposed to sew pearls to a light blue bodice she intended to wear for her wedding. But now that Myranda could take a closer look, she noticed that Alayne was not really making progress. But was it because she could not or because she would not? 

Myranda knew that Alayne was not entirely pleased about how quickly she was betrothed to Harrold Hardyng. Myranda understood her friend. Alayne had been brought up very reclusively by septas and now probably felt that there was more about the world she wanted to discover before getting married. Had Myranda been pent-up in a secluded septry, she knew she would feel little inclination to limit her newfound freedom so soon. And Alayne would have been mostly left in the dark about what went on between man and woman too. Old legends and songs were nice if you were a septa with nothing else to do. But to study the human nature it took a little more than just that. And after some more quizzing from Myranda Alayne had confessed, blushing furiously, that she did not know how to deal with Harrys desires or womanizing. 

“Alayne, you have charmed Harry thoroughly! I am sure he will be gentle with you!”

Gentle he might be, but the bridegroom already had one baseborn daughter and a second child from a different mother was probably already a couple of months old by now. Myranda did not want to dishearten her friend, but the time span Harry would remain faithful to his wife was predictably short. No marriage to a beautiful woman would change that. Alayne probably knew and did not think she could cope. Had Myranda been in Alaynes place, she would not have let such worries get to her. Men were fickle creatures but so were women. As long as they could agree on the terms, she saw no reason why husband and wife should not enjoy the occasional dalliance outside the marriage bed. But Alayne surely never learned about these aspects of human nature from her morally impeccable but otherwise completely clueless septas. And Harry was a man with a healthy appetite. Myranda wondered if Harry would be happy with a wife so pious and reserved. 

Once, Myranda fancied herself Lady Hardyng. But Harrys warden Lady Anya Waynwood, that pretentious shriveled old hag, had objected a union of the noble houses of Hardyng and Royce. Myranda was highborn yes, but too brazen and frolicsome and therefore unfit for Harry the precious Heir. Such had been Lady Waynwoods harsh verdict. And Myranda was sure, had it not been for the old bat, she would not be the merry widow of a dispensable old man, but sitting in a seat alongside Harry with at least two or three chubby little heirs of their own by now. She knew Harry would not have minded marrying her, had it been up to him. Harry liked her, she liked Harry. They had known each other for years. They were good friends, enjoyed the same things and would have gotten along wonderfully. And that was more than many other noble married couples could say for themselves. She tried not to think about it too much because it only depressed her, but sometimes she felt bitter towards Lady Waynwood and her snobbishness. 

Then all of a sudden, along came Alayne, a literal nobody. And before Myranda could blink Alayne was betrothed to Harrold Hardyng! Alayne was not even highborn but a bastard. What had Petyr Baelish promised Lady Waynwood in return for this quick and puzzling betrothal? No noble maiden in the Vale had been good enough before, why Alayne? Lady Waynwood must be desperate for money and Alaynes father was a rich and influential man, there was no other reasonable explanation. Myranda did not really begrudge Alayne the good match, but she could not help but wonder about what had been going on between Lady Waynwood and Baelish before the deal had been fixed. 

Not long ago Myranda thought the Lord Protector himself would make an excellent match for her. But he showed no interest, no matter how heavily she hinted that she would not oppose a new marriage and she would be ready whenever he was. After various fruitless efforts Myranda knew he was a lost cause. 

Alayne was a dutiful daughter. But Myranda couldn’t help noticing that she didn’t seem too keen to fulfill her fathers wishes this time. Maybe her friend wouldn’t mind a way out? 

Alayne was supposed to be sewing her wedding dress. Myrandas shrewd eyes had already spotted that there was no sewing going on. She had to be careful but it was so hard these days because her thoughts kept going back to the conversation she had had some days earlier. 

“What would you have us do, Mylady?”

Brienne of Tarth asked nothing less than the question of all questions: What did Sansa want? 

She wanted to go home, to Winterfell. But Winterfell was now in the hands of the ruthless Roose Bolton and his even worse bastard son. It was not her home any longer. It was also being besieged, as far as the scarce information went, by Stannis Baratheon who had somehow managed to show up far north with his entire army. And winter was not only coming, in the north it was already there. It was more likely to freeze to death before reaching Winterfell if they left the Vale now. Sandor Clegane did not mince words when he had declared that they had not survived this many ordeals to rescue her, only to run off towards north immediately without preparation and have them all dying from the cold. This really would have been a most futile waste. Even Sansa, homesick as she was, saw sense in this. 

What else did she want?

She wanted her mother and her father back, and Robb, even Arya and sweet Bran and little baby Rickon. But she knew that this wish could never come true. The dead did not come back to life and if they did, it was a terrible thing. The dead should be left in peace. Brienne had shuddered at these words and Clegane had nodded somberly. She saw Brienne put an arm around Podricks shoulders as if to give him comfort from some horror unknown, because the lad had started to shiver uncontrollably when they spoke of people who were supposed to be dead but by some mystery still roamed the Riverlands. When that had passed, Clegane had said that there was nothing they could do about her parents and brothers but maybe not all hope was lost for her sister. Arya might still be alive! The good news was dampened by the fact that they had absolutely no idea of her whereabouts. "Anywhere in this world" was not exactly a useful clue about where to start looking for her!

What more could she think of?

She wanted to be Sansa Stark again. But if she would declare it publicly now, no one would believe her or Littlefinger would make sure nobody would because she had thwarted his plans. And if Cersei Lannister heard about this then the Vale would surely have to face an entire Lannister army, thanks to Sansas selfish wish. No, it was best to remain Alayne for now. The Vale was as safe and comfortable as a hiding place could possibly be. At least until a solution for her dilemma could be found. 

All of them ended up being somewhat frustrated that most of Sansa Starks problems seemed unsolvable. They decided to concentrate on what was feasible instead. It turned out that the most pressing problem was to get rid of another unwanted husband. 

While she was supposed to prepare for her wedding, she thought that she would be a great deal happier and Sweetrobin, her frail cousin, would be a great deal safer, if only her betrothal to Harry the Heir could be undone. If Alayne and Harry did not marry, little Lord Robert Arryn would not become superfluous and it would have to remain the Lord Protectors first priority to keep him healthy and happy. And getting rid of Harry the Arse would be the sugar on top. 

But plotting was an arduous business and she, Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne turned out to be too unpracticed or even hopeless at it. All Sandor Clegane and Ser Jaime Lannister could come up with was bloodshed and brute force. And to that she had objected strongly. She wanted to get rid of Harry by leaving him in one piece. She wanted him gone, not dead! There was a difference as she had to point out several times. The Vale still needed Harry, should her cousin die before he reached manhood, which unfortunately was a very real prospect. But until now they had no idea how Harry could disappear from her life without being harmed. 

Just when she began to think that all was lost and that there was no solution, Myranda asked unexpectedly:

“Alayne, I hope you don’t mind me speaking freely but it seems to me, that you are not too eager to marry. I feel you might be overwhelmed and not quite ready for it all. But of course you don’t want to disappoint your father, seeing that he arranged you this wonderful match. But, let’s say if Harry was distracted from you by another unmarried girl of noble birth, a girl he just would have to marry, once their dalliance was made embarrassingly public, how devastated would you be?”

Alayne looked at Myranda with big eyes. But after a while she replied:

“Myranda, what a curious question to ask! Of course I would be devastated, should such a thing happen. But I can assure you that after what would be considered an appropriate amount of time, I would get over it and live my life happily without Harry. And let me be clear, I would bear no grudge towards Harry or his bride, in the future.”

They looked at each other smiling, nodded and continued their sewing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What better for a grand finale than a wedding?

The scandal that rocked the Gates of the Moon and its inhabitants still made everybody shake their heads in stunned disbelief. On a fine sunny day two weeks prior, Lord Nestor Royce had gone to his daughter Myrandas chambers to ask her about something that was completely forgotten afterwards. There suddenly had been a lot of angry shouting, high-pitched screaming, doors banging, glass shattering and tears. After the dust had cleared it had become evident that Lord Nestor Royce himself had discovered his only daughter and Harrold Hardyng, the fiancé of the Lord Protectors daughter, in a most compromising situation. So compromising in fact, that everyone agreed, had they seen their own daughter like this, they would not have minded to die of shame on the spot. Or at least being whacked very forcefully over the head with the late King Roberts famous war hammer in a desperate attempt to make them forget. 

Lord Nestor was still alive. But everyone who had seen him only moments afterwards said that his face had turned an extremely unhealthy shade of crimson. Lord Nestor threw the unlucky Harry from his daughters chambers with his own hands. The lad busted his eyebrow while colliding very uncomfortably with the opposite wall. He bore a scar for the rest of his life. Then the enraged lord Nestor had smashed half of the dishes his late wife had brought into their marriage as a priceless family heirloom. For good measure he had marched into the cellar and destroyed a couple of oaken wine barrels which contained the good arbor vintage all the while cursing like a madman. After his anger had subsided somewhat he marched back to his daughter, who was fully dressed again by the time and threatened to push her off the highest tower he could find if she left the room. Then he went to Harry who had the good sense to look crestfallen when Lord Nestor arrived to have a lengthy talk which could be heard through the entire castle. Harry did not have much to say. The two culprits were locked into their chambers and remained there until the further course of action was decided. 

Lady Anya Waynwood came running as fast as her age allowed, skirts billowing, the bad hip forgotten, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Soon the other Lords of the Vale came flocking to the Gates of the Moon. 

First the Lord Protector had reacted to the news with aplomb until he heard of the decision that of course Harry would still get married, just not to his daughter Alayne. The Lords of the Vale were not swayed, not with reasoning, not with money and not with threats. No one would confirm it but the talk was that the Lord of Runestone himself, Bronze Yohn, cut the Lord Protectors massive, oaken table in half with his broadsword for emphasis when he gained the impression the Lord Protector had a hard time accepting the decision of the most notable lords of the Vale. When they finally emerged from their confinement the Lord Protector had clearly lost this battle. He went straight to his chambers, not seeing anyone, not even his daughter. 

Meanwhile Alayne had locked herself into her room. Mya brought food and tried to comfort her. But Alayne seemed inconsolable and stayed in bed for days. Her father knocked at her door after deciding he had a Vale to run and could not afford to sulk, beseeching her for entrance. He had to leave without succeeding. One by one they tried, even Lord Nestor, who was so lucky to receive a wailed “Go away!” Only the little Lord Robert Arryn was allowed in. Somehow his naïve attempts at comforting Alayne seemed to help. As the days went by they decided to leave her be. As long as she was eating and drinking, which she obviously did, there was no need to worry. She probably just needed time to readjust and let her heartache subside they told themselves. There was a wedding to prepare anyway. Of course no one expected Alayne to attend and if she stayed in her room during the ceremony and the feast, so much for the better. One scandal in such a short amount of time was enough!

The wedding itself was not as lavish an affair as it could have been. Not everybody who would have attended under normal circumstances was there because the invitation had been very short notice. But everybody decided to make the best of the hasty affair. 

The groom stood beside the altar wearing a baffled look, an expression he managed to keep up nicely during the ceremony and the feast. 

His warden kept her mouth in a thin line while her sons Morton, Donnel and Wallace could not hide their bemused grin as good as their mother would have liked. 

The Lord of Runestone, Bronze Yohn Royce stood beside Lady Waynwood with a furrowed brow. No one could tell if he was angry or not. He did look rather grim but this was what he always looked like. The Bronze Yohn was not a cheerful soul, it was known. Of his four children, only Ysilla and Robar were present. 

The Lord Protector of the Vale attended the wedding but it was more than obvious that he would have preferred not to. But as the Lord Protector he was expected to retain his composure, a task he usually excelled at. But today he looked like he had been chewing on extraordinarily sour lemon slices. Next to him stood his stepson, little Robert Arryn. He was the only one who looked as happy and pleased as one should when there are weddings to be celebrated. There was neither shaking nor temper tantrum for the whole day. The Little Lord was looking forward to the big lemon cake waiting for them. 

The father of the bride, Lord Nestor Royce wore a splendid doublet and a pained smile as he guided his daughter to the altar. Her brother Andar gave the impression that he would have liked nothing better than a gap to open itself beneath his feet and swallow him whole.

The bride was heavily veiled which was a clever idea. Otherwise everybody would have seen her grinning triumphantly from ear to ear as she was walking to the altar in a measured tread. 

As soon as the feast was over, the newlyweds would leave the Gates of the Moon for Harrys ancestral seat. But first, everybody intended to fill themselves to the brim with food and drinks Lord Nestor paid for. 

Alayne received a plate of the opulent meal in her room. Underneath a particularly big slice of delicious lemon cake she found a note. She smiled as she read it.

“I will be forever in your debt. Should you ever need anything tell me what it is and consider your wish fulfilled. Always your friend, M.” it said. 

Alayne smiled and then tossed the treacherous little note into the fire. 

“Myranda I am in your debt too. You have done me a bigger favor than you could ever imagine. I hope and pray for you to be happy with Harry. I will miss you! Life here will become a lot more serious without you. You always knew how to take my mind off things.” she whispered as the piece of parchment crumbled into ashes. 


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family, Duty, Honor. Alayne Stone decides where her loyalties lie. Petyr Baelish had better sleep with one eye open if he ever decides to touch a hair of his stepson.

„Sweetrobin, will you at least eat a spoonful of your porridge, please? “

Alayne might as well have talked to the wall it would have been just as effective. Once Lord Robert Arryn had made up his mind about something it was an uphill battle to convince him to at least compromise. And sure enough the frail and sickly boy shook his head vigorously. Alayne sighed deeply. If only Sweetrobins body was as strong as he was stubborn his caregivers and the Vale would have had nothing to worry about! 

The harsh and cold weather had taken its toll on the delicate health of young Robert Arryn. There had been a significant improvement shortly before winter had come for good. Alayne suspected it might have had something to do with the departure of Harold Hardyng and his new wife, the Lady Myranda Royce. Sweetrobins joy of unloved Harry being gone and beloved Alayne remaining at his side had not only improved his temper but also his health and his appetite. He missed Myranda but the joy of having Alayne to himself overruled and he had even become quite adventurous. Alayne was able to persuade him to pursue activities any boy his age should participate in such as building snow men and snowball fights in the courtyard. It gave Sweetrobin rosy cheeks, a ravenous appetite and a more carefree attitude. And Alayne was glad to see a spark of mischief appear in his otherwise sad looking eyes whenever he succeeded in hitting a particularly hard target, these being Alayne herself or sometimes Mya Stone. Yet when the boy erupted with laughter and cries of triumph Alayne sometimes had to fight tears because it made her think of her younger siblings and the snowball fights they used to have. 

But a couple of weeks ago Sweetrobin had caught a cold. And whatever improvement there had been, it had been annihilated by the fever and the shaking. The sickness had past thankfully but Sweetrobin remained frail and was back to his old, petulant and picky ways. Going outside was declared still too risky and would not be as fun anymore because the snow was too high to play in now. Paths had to be shoveled through it and the walls on either side were nearly six feet high. They were once again stuck in the boys bedchamber with nothing but tales of ancient greatness and glory and Sweetrobins occasional temper tantrum to entertain themselves with. Alayne grew so sick of fair maidens, chivalrous knights and heroic deeds she thought she might scream if she ever heard another word of it again. In a rare moment of quiet she thought it was funny how she finally lost her taste for these tales: not by the horrible events that should have opened her eyes to dire reality, but by endless repetition and boredom.

“Alayne, do you suppose we could go to the stables if we were very careful and dressed very sensibly?” 

This request was so unexpected she thought she might have misheard. But it was undoubtedly Sweetrobin asking her very politely and very carefully, as if he had planned it in advance, to leave the self-imposed confinement of his bedchamber. He too seemed to be craving a bit of excitement. 

“Of course we could Sweetrobin but won’t you at least eat some of your porridge? It will give you strength for a new adventure.” 

The boy considered her words and then obediently ate three spoonfuls. Alayne supposed it was better than nothing. 

Sweetrobin usually was not very keen on the subject of stables. But it turned out he had heard the servants gossiping about a big, bad-tempered black stallion that was the terror of every stable hand and squire. Of course the boy had become curious and wanted to see it with his own eyes. Alayne agreed quickly. She too was eager to see something else than the drapes of Sweetrobins bedchamber and if it was an unruly horse in the dusty stables, so be it. Soon they were emerging into the courtyard. Sweetrobin had lived up to his promise to dress sensibly. He was so bundled up in furs he looked like a little bear cub. They had to move slowly because of his feeble legs but it gave Sweetrobin enough time to admire the snow walls standing twice as tall as him. 

“This must be what the Wall up in the North looks like Alayne! When…. If I grow up, will you come with me to see it?” 

He looked at Alayne with his big eyes, smiling in anticipation. This request made her heart ache for her lonely little cousin. She knew it was very well possible he would never even see the beginning of the next spring. But as he changed the word “when” to “if” it made her realize another thing. Despite the fact that everybody lied to him about his health or tried to talk him and themselves into believing all was well, the boy was aware of his fragile condition, the worries and problems it caused, the limits it set, the threat it constantly posed. But now his eyes shone bright with excitement just as Bran’s or Rickon’s would have when hatching great plans for the future. Like herself once, he believed anything was possible and the future was nothing but a magnificient adventure. Standing between these seemingly endless walls of snow he was like any other child his age: Eager and excited to explore the world, the sickness forgotten. Suddenly all the bother he had ever caused Alayne vanished. This child did not deserve to be holed up in his bedchamber, sheltered and smothered, only to be paraded around like a puppet when his presence was necessary. This child might be frail and sick and most of the time difficult to deal with but who wouldn’t be, when they realized they were nothing but a cumbersome, tolerated burden everyone had to put up with because he happened to be the Lord of the Vale? Who wouldn't when they realized they were constantly being lied to, no matter how well meant these lies were? His mother, the only person who probably had ever loved him just the way he was, had flown away through the Moon Door and left him alone. Alayne felt guilt collect like lead in her stomach and at the same time a fierce wave of motherly affection for her cousin rushed through her. That moment she swore to herself that she would do everything in her power to let him grow up safely. And may the Gods help her, she would personally make sure he could visit all the places in the world he desired to see!

“Yes my Sweetrobin! I will come with you and we will see the wall up in the north with our own eyes and wonder at its height and might. And no one will stop us, if we decide to do so!” 

She declared it fiercely, stooped and swept the boy into a tight embrace. This sudden outburst from the otherwise so mild-mannered, sensible and cautious Alayne stunned him for a moment. But he quickly regained his composure, patted her shoulder good-naturedly and dragged her off to the stables to see that fabled black stallion.


End file.
